Plumis
by charlotteicewolf77
Summary: Post TWS: Bucky Barnes is broken in many ways, putting the pieces back together will take a long time but Steve is willing to stick around and help. Wing!AU (everyone has wings & shows them in private). Alternatively: Bucky's wings are broken, Steve's wings are beautiful. Bucky/Steve slash


"No," Bucky told Steve flatly. "No way."

"Why not?" Steve pressed. "Come on, Bucky, please?"

"No," he repeated again. Steve didn't know what he was asking for, wanting to see his wings and Bucky may no longer have been the tallest or strongest of their pair but he was always going to act like it. He was never going to subject Steve to _that_.

"Please?" the blonde tried one last time. The other has a flash of memory; of a thin, skinny blonde using the exact same eyes and begging voice.

"No," he said bluntly. "Just…_no_."

Steve said nothing but Bucky could tell by his eyes that this wasn't over.

~0~

Nothing happened until a week later. Bucky had gone into the bedroom and seen Steve sitting on the bed, shirt off and wings unleashed fully; with a span that shouldn't have been possible in the tiny box they called a bedroom. "Buck'," his friend had started, apologetically- he hadn't meant for him to see but he hadn't used his wings for so long and once he had opened them it felt too good to hide them away again.

Bucky said nothing, too caught up in the silky feathers erupting from lean muscle. Because Steve's wings were _beautiful_. Glossy and with a sheen to rival the ones in the Japanese cartoon programmes Bruce had once shown him. Clearly his wings (and his dick) had not been affected by the serum, for they were still as big and as beautiful as they had been back on skinny little Steve-o in 1941. Purest white, feathers naturally even and unruffled and _perfect_. Not so much as a tiny little feather out of place- just as they always had been.

Perfect, they were absolutely _perfect_ (had he mentioned that before). Erupting seamlessly from skin and stretching almost up to the ceiling, white diamonds in the roughness of the bedroom and ending in a perfect point. It hurt to look, but Bucky couldn't look away.

"Bucky?" Steve was still talking but he wasn't listening. "Bucky, I'm sorry…"

Something inside the former soviet soldier snapped and he turned and practically ran from the bedroom and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him with a final-sounding 'click'.

"Shit," Captain America cursed, staring at the closed door. "Buck'?" he called through the wood, wondering if he should knock. "Buck'? Please come out, I didn't mean for you to see them, honestly. I was just stretching them out and it felt too good to hide them away again. They're hidden now though, will you come out?"

There was no sound from the other side of the door and Steve was tempted to cry. It was only three months since Bucky had turned up whilst he was out running, pale and tired but free of Hydra but he had been doing _better_. The nightmares less violent and (slightly) easier to bring him back from. The flinches whenever anyone touched him lessening and he'd been remembering more and more each day; though there were still (gaping) holes in his mind. Now… Steve sighed…. Now, he may have inadvertently fucked it all up.

~0~

"Bucky? Bucky, please come out," Steve begged.

On the other side of the door, Bucky slid down to the floor and rested his head against the cool wood, trying to block out his friend's voice. Steve's wings filled his mind, white and glossy and huge and _perfect_. Better than anything he'd ever seen, so bright and beautiful it hurt.

He let out a sob that he instantly regretted and smacked his head against the door hard enough to make a 'thump' sound which immediately shut Steve up.

The Winter Soldier hadn't given a thought about his wings, but once he had gotten out from under Hydra's control, one of the first things he had done was lock himself in the bathroom and let out his wings. He wished now that he hadn't. The only way to describe them now was _disgusting_. Disgusting and filthy and broken and completely what he deserved for doing all the things he had done. He let out another sob which caused Steve to start talking again, begging to be let in so that they could just talk about it. Huh, talk. All they ever seemed to do was _talk _(and fuck, when they both needed the fuzzy round the edges afterglow to get them to sleep.) Talk about what he couldn't remember, about what he could remember, about Brooklyn and the war and the Howling Commandos. About this future that, although was good, wasn't home.

~0~

The floor was starting to get _really_ uncomfortable, but Bucky couldn't find it in himself to move. Not to open the door and face Steve or even just to move into a comfier position. The tears were running silently down his cheeks, leaving wet tracks in their wake, but he did not have the energy to lift his hand and wipe them away. His head hurt and his whole body quivered like a leaf in the wind, metal arm suddenly cold and heavy, as if it felt the need to remind the human attached of its presence.

Sometimes, the super soldier longed to just tear the metal appendage away; tear it away and destroy it so he could at least try and forget. (The things he remembered he would often rather not.) At least the star was no longer there- Sam had helped him paint over it before Tony had had the time to get rid of it properly. Now, only the outline remained, slightly burnt and rusted and a bit flaky after a shower- Tony had promised to give the arm a complete overhaul just as soon as he got Fury off his back for something or other.

Bucky felt like the outline, burnt and bruised and a bit flaky round the edges. _Definitely_ marring on the smooth, shiny silver planes of just about everything.

Especially Steve, although Bucky had always thought of Steve as gold- rare and shiny and non-corrosive, untouchable and unmarred by everything around him; light never dulling or fading because he was _Steve_.

~0~

_Brooklyn, April 1938_

This was getting ridiculous now, Steve thought to himself, frustrated. Bucky liked long showers, sure, but he always either finished in time for Steve to get his own equally long turn or let the blonde in with him. Today though, today Steve had to hand in his art assignment to his professor by 10 before getting to the job he had managed to get helping Mr Panofsky sweeping the streets. But Bucky was still in the bathroom after _40 minutes_ and he too needed to get to work and earn his dollar.

"Bucky!" Steve yelled through the door. "Bucky, hurry _up_! I need to hand in my assignment!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" the other yelled back. He slumped down against the wall with a sigh, rubbing a shaky hand over his mouth. Contrary to what Steve believed, he had only been in the shower for 15 minutes. The rest of his time had been divided between doing his hair and being sick in the toilet.

"Bucky!" the exasperated blonde repeated, seriously considering the merits of breaking the door down.

Suddenly, the door banged open and Steve only just avoided being run over by his best friend. "Yes, I know I was ages. No, it won't happen again. Yes, that probably is a lie!" the brunette assured him as he hastened to find his jacket whilst also putting on his shoes. "Yes, I'll be home for dinner. And yes, I love you too," Bucky planted a slightly off target kiss on Steve's lips before hurrying out the door (casually forgetting the sandwiches that Steve had made him on the table- it wasn't like he would be able to actually eat them, anyways. Better to let Steve take them- he needed more meat on his bones.)

Steve blinked and tried to figure out what had just happened. Playing it back, he found the scene to be no different from any of the other times that their mornings had been hectic. Although… Bucky had seemed a little paler than usual, but then again that was probably just the crappy lighting that they had in the apartment. And he'd forgotten to take his sandwiches. Steve rolled his eyes and hurried into the bathroom.

_He _was going to be leaving the apartment sedately even if Bucky wasn't.

~0~

"Hey, Bucky, are you home yet?" came Steve's cheerful voice. Bucky let out a groan (which was absolutely a groan, definitely did not sound more like a whimper) from where he lay curled up on their dilapidated old couch. The extra noise was enough to make the tiny men hacking at the inside of his skull with pickaxes strike even harder.

"Buck'?" Steve asked from the doorway, the quieter voice still causing waves of pain, "You okay? I thought you were working today?"

"Got sent home," he gritted out. "Boss said seein' as I was such a good worker I'd still get my dollar."

The skinny blonde nodded, confusion on his face changing to concern as he took in the state of the body curled into a ball on the sofa, "What's wrong?"

"Migraine on top of a stomach bug," Bucky muttered as he tried to bury himself in the threadbare fabric. "Couldn't be bothered to make it to the bed."

Steve gave him a sympathetic grimace and clambered on to sit next to him, "You take anything? I think we still got some aspirin in the bathroom."

"Had some already… didn't stay down."

Steve nodded and started to stroke his hair, "Best just try and sleep it off then- you wanna move to the bed?"

But the other man was already closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. "Stay?" he mumbled weakly. "Please?"

"Wouldn't dream of doing anything but."

~0~

"Don't let 'em get me," Bucky mumbled, tossing and turning. "They're gonna hurt me."

"Shh," Steve told him softly, wringing out a damp cloth and pressing it to the elder's sweltering forehead. "Just calm down, Buck'. Nothing can get you- you're safe, you're in our apartment. Nothing is going to hurt you in here, I promise."

The brunette moaned something inaudible before falling silent again. "Don't you worry about a thing," Steve continued, regardless of whether Bucky could hear him or not. "I know you; you're not gonna let a stupid little bug put you out of commission for very long." The blonde shifted slightly on the cold floor, "I just… I wish you'd _tell_ me when you're not okay, you know? Because I don't mind looking after you- and you look after me all the times that I get sick, which… is a lot of times."

Steve sighed and glanced down at the floor before returning his gaze to his sick partner, "And it seems to me that we share a lot of bad times and it just kinds of makes me wish that we shared more good times. Not only that but…. You don't have to carry on being so strong for me all the time. I know that most winters I'm pretty much hopeless and can't help out much, but I can still help you out whenever _you_ need it."

Steve removed the cloth and replaced it with a new one. "What's the point in me telling you all this, huh?" he smiled sadly. "'S not like you can hear me; even if you could, nothing would change. I know you, Buck', never like admitting when you need help."

"Would if it made you happier," came a tired slur. "'D do anythin' to make you happy, Stevie. You know that."

Steve felt his cheeks grow hot," You heard all that, then?"

"Th' important bits," Bucky mumbled. He grabbed for the younger's hand, dwarfing it with his bigger one. "nd I'm sorry I don't tell you some things and I'm gonna try and work on that but you're my Steve 'nd I'm always gonna look after you and protect you as much as I possibly can 'cuz I love you."

"You're sweet when you're sweet," Steve grinned.

"I mean it!" Bucky insisted.

"I know," he assured him. "But we're not talking about anything when you're sick- new rule, no discussing important stuff when the other one is sick."

"Okay," Bucky agreed, eyes heavy. "'m just gonna go to sleep now."

"You do that," Steve smiled.

~0~

"Bucky?" Steve called for what felt like the thousandth time. "Bucky, are you okay in there?" there was only silence from beyond the door and Steve let out his umpteenth sigh and felt vaguely like the redheaded girl from the movie he had seen last time he was at Stark tower.

The super soldier had been locked in the bathroom for almost an hour and Steve was beginning to freak out a little.

_/Maybe he's having a flashback/_ sounded the little voice in the back of his head. _/Maybe he's left just clambered out the window because you pushed him too far. Maybe he's collapsed or something- you don't know what Hydra did to his mind/_

Ridiculous, Captain America tried to tell himself but it was to no avail.

Bucky was still recovering his memories. Mostly they came back in a trickle, one drop at a time prompted by seemingly random things- but harmless. Sometime though, sometimes there were long periods of nothing followed by a huge gush of recollections, as if they'd all waited to attack at once. (Like how Steve felt about his tears, holding them back until the dam broke and he had to hide away in the bathroom so that Bucky wouldn't see how much he was hurting.)

They didn't happen very often, for which Steve was grateful, because they were painful to watch. But now he couldn't get the image out of his head: the brunette curled into a foetal position on the cold tiles, feeling like his chest was on fire and not being able to breath and tears pooling in the dips between the ceramic, head hurting like hell and experiencing memories and events entirely new to him and so, so confused.

"Fuck it," Steve muttered and geared himself up to break down the door.

~0~

Bucky had somehow moved himself from the door to lying weakly by the bathtub, though he couldn't for the life of him remember how. His head hurt and he felt like he couldn't breathe, each breath painful in his tight chest. He couldn't make sense of what he had just seen; usually when he had a flashback it was many fragments of memories, gushing by like a stream; each one only there for a single moment before being washed away again. Now was different, this time he could remember every moment with crystal clarity and it confused him.

Steve…he wanted Steve, Steve made him feel safe. He let him have an opinion and called him Bucky not because it was who he had been but because he himself had _chosen_ to be called that. (Because if Bucky was the name of a good man, maybe the Winter Soldier could become one by taking his name.) Steve didn't call him 'the asset' or get angry and hurt him and tried to hide how much it hurt when he couldn't remember things. Bucky's head hurt from it all, men with pickaxes and stomping elephants and building crews and fire ants all coming together at once to make his brain feel like it was on fire.

Bucky let out a whimper (and, yeah, okay, it was definitely a whimper this time but so _what_ ?!) and curled in on himself even tighter, pressing his head against the cold of the tiles in an attempt to dull the pain. Everything else was just fog; just him curled on the tiles surrounded by impenetrable white fog.

It reminded him of the _chair_, of the mind wiping and being 'the asset'. Being the Winter Soldier, a weapon, not a person. Being not with Steve and just pain pain _pain_ and the even worse blankness of just the _mission_, no choices, no wings just the _mission_.

He gave another whimper- but only a tiny, barely even actually there at all one- and suddenly there was a 'crack!' sound from somewhere far away, accompanied by a lot of bangs and a cry of

'"Bucky?!"' and Bucky could finally feel like he was able to breathe again. Steve was here; everything was going to be okay now because Steve was here.

~0~

Bucky blinked slowly and shifted slightly where his head rested on Steve's shoulder- experiencing the rare feeling of security curled up under the thick duvet, with the heavy blue curtains shut and the door closed. No one could get in; Steve didn't want to get out. Everything was _fine_… except for one thing.

The blonde glanced up at him sleepily, reaching up and placing his hand on top of Bucky's (and now it was the opposite of before: Steve's hand now dwarfed his but somehow it didn't seem to matter as much anymore) "What's up?" he asked gently. Bringing up tender fingers to stroke messy brown hair, "How's your head?"

The other shook his head, sure he had a nasty migraine from his most recent flashback but he wasn't too bothered about that right now. There were more pressing things that he had to do. "You know that time in '38 when I got sick and you said you'd like it if I admitted when something was wrong?"

Steve blinked before nodding, "Yeah."

"Well, there's a reason I don't want you seeing my wings."

"Buck'," his face softened. "You don't have to tell me."

But the other super soldier ignored him and carried on anyways, "They're disgusting, my wings I mean. They're horrible and I might not be able to remember what they looked like before but it doesn't matter."

"I'm sure they're still beautiful," Steve murmured.

"They're really not," he replied before tipping his head back and unleashing his wings.

"Buck'…" the blonde said and Bucky closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the pity in his voice.

The other super soldier took in his partner's wings, aghast. Once upon a time, he remembered Bucky's wings to be _beautiful_. Colours of the sunset splayed onto soft, downy feathers. Now, be it due to the experiences that his friend had gone through or what Hydra had done to him, his wings were different. Not _bad_, particularly, just different.

Now, they were ragged, colours faded and in some parts turned grey; with the wings in some places completely bare, bones showing under tattered feathers, "Does it hurt?" Steve blurted out without thinking and mentally slapped himself… of course they must hurt,

But Bucky just shrugged, "I don't really take much notice of it anymore. It's not like anyone could change them."

"They're beautiful," Steve told him firmly.

Bucky said nothing, but inwardly he smiled.


End file.
